Durham Cathedral, UK

Follow the money

In August of 1974, Richard Nixon resigned as President of the United States, ending a long process of suspicion, investigation, and Senate hearings into allegations that the Committee to Re-elect the President (CREEP) used subterfuge and “dirty tricks” to sabotage the efforts of the Democratic Party leading up to the presidential election in 1972. Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, reporters for the Washington Post, were central to that investigation, jumping on the story of the notorious break-in at the headquarters of the Democratic Party at the Watergate complex near the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in the Foggy Bottom neighborhood of Washington, D.C. They worked so closely together that they were known by their names melded as “Woodstein.” The story as they told it is widely regarded as the birth of modern investigative journalism.

Shortly after Nixon’s resignation, Woodward and Bernstein published All the President’s Men (Simon & Schuster, 1974), which was a precursor to the 1976 movie of the same name, starring Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman. There’s a scene in the film where Bernstein (Dustin Hoffman) is interviewing an accountant who worked for CREEP, who revealed that there was a stash of money—a secret fund—that was used to bankroll those dirty tricks. As Bernstein questioned her, she said, “Follow the money.” I suppose that phrase had been used before, but it’s popularly understood that it originated in that movie.

Woodward and Bernstein followed the money, which led them to discovering how many White House officials and Nixon appointees were involved in the scandal, ultimately unraveling Nixon’s presidency. I’m writing this in mid-September, and I realize that you will likely be reading it a few days before Americans go to the polls to decide what must be one of the nastiest presidential campaigns in the nation’s history.

Don’t take it for granted.

When I was a kid, I had practice privileges in four different local churches. I came and went as I pleased and made plenty of noise while I was there. I even had keys to a couple of them. One was the church where I had my lessons. Looking back, I suppose my teacher had made the arrangements for me, but I don’t remember any of the details. If I remember right, I played for an occasional funeral—I guess that was in return for the right to practice. I’m pretty sure that money never changed hands, and I know I took it for granted. Wasn’t I lucky?

When I arrived at Oberlin as a student in the fall of 1974, I was flabbergasted by the number of organs. There were sixteen practice organs, four in teaching studios, a big Aeolian-Skinner in Finney Chapel, and the brand-new Flentrop in Warner Concert Hall. Organ majors had two weekly lessons—one in the studio and one in the concert hall. And of course, we needed practice time in the hall. That was the way things worked, and I never paid attention to how frustrating it must have been for students studying other instruments. If you wanted to rehearse a string quartet in Warner Hall, you had to sneak past all those organists.

Of course, Oberlin also had a lot of pianos—hundreds of them. There was a marble plaque on the wall near the dean’s office that read, “Steinway & Sons Commemorates Oberlin’s Century of Service to Music.”¹ I remember paraphrasing it: “Steinway & Sons Commemorates Oberlin’s Century of Service to Steinway & Sons.” There were close to two hundred Steinways in the practice building, Robertson Hall. There was a Steinway “B” in every teaching studio, and two Bs in every piano teacher’s studio. Two Bs, or not two Bs, there was no question that we had access to excellent instruments wherever we turned. I suppose there were close to three hundred pianos. I wonder what that cost? The pianos were there in support of all the students—flautists, singers, violinists—but the organists sure ate up most of the real estate. 

We all had our favorite instruments. I certainly knew which practice organs I preferred, but I also had a half-dozen favorite pianos. I knew them by room number and serial number. Wasn’t I lucky to have a half dozen favorites out of the multitude? I once had a dream that Oberlin was replacing all the pianos at once, and they were discarding all the old ones. To make the disposal easier in the wacky world of dreams, the pianos were placed on the curb in front of houses all over town for trash day, and we raced about, looking at serial numbers to claim our favorites. I found mine on the curb in front of Fenner Douglass’s house on Morgan Street—the one with the big organ pipe out front. Lucky guy.

WWFS? What would Freud say? That I took it for granted that lovely instruments would be provided for me wherever I went? That I felt it was somehow my right? That was the time when I was getting deep into organ building and started to realize how much money was involved.

I’ve heard colleagues say something like this: “I’ll accept that job, but I told them they’ll have to buy me a new organ.” Have you ever heard anything like that? Have you ever said anything like that?

A crazy business

Picture a parish church with 250 “pledging units.” The organ is a broken-down, tired relic, and someone gets the idea that it should be replaced. How do we get started? What’s it going to cost? However they get started, somewhere along the line they start receiving proposals from organbuilders. $650,000. $800,000. $1,200,000. Wow! I had no idea.

To pay for an $800,000 instrument, every family in that church would have to donate $3,200. To pay for $1.2M instrument, more like $4,800. Of course, it never works like that. More likely, one family gives a third of the cost, three other families split the second third, and the rest comes in small gifts from the other 246 families. The smallest gift comes from the First Grade Class of the Sunday School.

Let’s think about this. A small community of people ponies up an average of $3,200 a head to buy a musical instrument. Crazy. Are they doing that as a gift to the organist? I doubt it. They may be doing it in recognition and appreciation for the wonderful music. The organist’s artistry may have inspired them. And they may be doing it in part to be sure they’ll be able to attract the next good musician. Whatever the motivation, we shouldn’t fail to notice what a remarkable process that is.

One brick at a time

Last April, Wendy and I spent ten days in the UK. She was attending the London Book Fair, so I had a few days on my own to explore the big city. After the fair, we traveled to Durham, to York, and to Oxford, especially visiting big churches and their organs.

I wrote about that trip in the June and July 2016 issues of The Diapason and touched on how the British National Lottery provides funding for the restoration of the pipe organs and church buildings through a program called Heritage Lottery Fund, which is dedicated to preserving the nation’s heritage. Durham Cathedral was built between 1093 and 1133, and a major renovation project is underway now. Dubbed “Open Treasure,” the project is focused not only on the fabric of the building, but on programming involving the use of the spaces as well. You can read about the project on the website: www.durhamcathedral.co.uk/open-treasure. 

The Heritage Lottery Fund is supporting the project in large part, but Durham Cathedral is responsible for raising a huge amount of the money. And there’s a marvelous project as part of that campaign. In the gift shop, a large and ancient room that also houses a restaurant, there was a Lego™ model of the cathedral under construction. It’s more than 12½ feet long, 5½ feet tall, and includes more than 300,000 bricks. For a donation of £1 per brick, you could add to the model. We gave £20, and with the help of a cheerful volunteer wearing an “Open Treasure” sweatshirt, I followed architectural drawings to install my 20 bricks.

There’s a website describing that project: www.durhamcathedral.co.uk/visit/what-to-visit/durham-cathedral-lego-bui…. When I looked at it this morning, I learned that the project, which started in July of 2013, is now complete. That webpage includes a video in five parts that animates the history of the cathedral using Lego™ bricks, with terrific singing by the cathedral choir in the background.

A note to readers: I hope you open the links I publish with this column. And Google “Durham Cathedral Lego.” You’ll find lots of newspaper coverage of this unique project.

In the July issue, I shared the tenth-century story of St. Cuthbert and the missing cow, part of the legend of the founding of the cathedral. There’s a commemorative statue of a cow high on the exterior of the cathedral, and there’s a Lego™ cow in the model, along with a representation of the famous poly-chromed façade of the cathedral organ, notable because it sports two 16′ Open Wood Diapasons, one which extends to 32′! Now we’re talking.

Buy a pipe.

The idea of buying bricks is not new. There are a couple bricks with our names on them in the path leading to the Skidompha² Library in Damariscotta, Maine (population 2,218). And my grandparents donated stones in honor of me, my three siblings, and ten first cousins for the construction of the Washington National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. I have no idea where those stones are located, but whenever I’m there, I look up and think about it.

A common gimmick for raising money for an organ project is “Buy a Pipe,” or “Adopt a Pipe.” The organbuilder and organ committee team up to create a catalogue of prices. You could list anything from a 13/5′ Tierce ($800) to a 32′ Bombarde ($75,000); a keyboard ($3,500) to a blower ($5,000). Donors could mark boxes on a form, and send in their checks. I’ve seen organ benches, carved pipe shades, and swell boxes listed as family gifts in dedication booklets. I’ve even seen an antiphonal Trompette-en-Chamade with the knob engraved Trompette Boyd, in memory of the son who died in the war.

This exercise is always a little mythical—it’s hard to make a list that accurately covers the entire cost of an organ. Windlines, schwimmers, ladders, and walkboards don’t make appealing memorials. Maybe you inflate the value of a music rack to cover a tuner’s perch. But it certainly is meaningful to donors to know they supported something specific. I often quip that raising money to build an organ is easier if there will be lots of space on the case for a plaque.

Place a big organ pipe, at least an 8-footer, in the narthex. Mark it with increments of $100,000, and fit it with a gold tuning sleeve. As gifts come in, move the sleeve up the pipe. Nice visual.

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There are lots of reasons for a church to purchase a new organ. The old one is worn out, or the old one was never any good. A new instrument would help revitalize the place. We care deeply about the meaning and role of music in our worship.

And there are reasons not to. A couple years ago I worked with a church, helping them to sell a large tracker organ. It was less than twenty years old, and very fancy, with carvings and moldings, shiny façade pipes, and turned rosewood drawknobs. But a significant number of members had been bitterly opposed to the acquisition. Many of those people left the church, and the opposition that remained carried on the battle. The installation of the new organ could be traced directly to the failure of the church and the disbanding of the congregation. Soli Deo Gloria. 

Wendy and I recently joined a church that installed a new organ a few years earlier. It was named the Bicentennial Organ, commemorating the bicentennial of the parish, and it was paid for by the wide membership of the parish and surrounding community. As a new member, I’ve enjoyed meeting people there. When they learn that I’m involved with pipe organs, they light up and speak eloquently about the church’s new instrument. They’re well informed about it. They not only know it’s a good and important organ, but they know why. They’re proud of it, and its presence in the building means a lot to them.

Care for the money.

The people who paid for the organ are entrusting it to you. Be sure that it’s always well cared for. That means tuning and mechanical issues, but there are some bigger, less obvious reasons. There’s someone on the property committee, the finance committee, or the board of trustees who is responsible for the church’s insurance policies. You are the advocate for the care of the organ. Take a moment to ask if the organ is properly insured. The organ should be specified on the policy, with a letter of assessment attached. If the organ is damaged by fire, by a roof leak, or by vandalism, they’ll find out very quickly how much it will cost to repair. If the organ was purchased for $200,000 thirty years ago, it may have a replacement value of over $1,000,000—$200,000 wouldn’t even cover the Rückpositiv. It’s remarkable how many organs are not adequately insured.

When the parish is planning renovation in the sanctuary, you are the advocate for the care of the organ. Be sure the organ is properly covered. If it’s going to be really dusty, the reeds should be removed to storage. New carpets, sanding the floors, painting, and carpentry are all enemies of the organ. I once saw a painter standing on top of the swell box in an antique organ, working over his head, a drop cloth and roller pan at his feet. Paint was dripping onto the Great pipes, and the guy had no idea how little structure there was under him. He could have fallen though and wrecked the organ. Might have gotten hurt, too.

Make sure that your music is well chosen and beautifully played—an inspiration to everyone in the pews. Use the organ to nurture and lead the congregation, not to aggrandize yourself. Use the organ as if it’s a privilege to play it. The people who paid for it are entrusting it to you. It’s there to provide beautiful music, but more fundamentally, it’s there as an expression of the congregation’s faith.

The new organ is a gift to future generations of worshipers. Your gift to those future generations is the inspiration you’ve provided—the magic, mystery, and majesty you’ve added to worship—that has encouraged the congregation to express their faith by supporting that new organ. Aren’t we lucky? ν

Notes

1. While writing this, I learned that Steinway provided a second plaque celebrating 150 years, honoring Oberlin as an “All-Steinway School.”

2. “Skidompha” is an acronym using the first initials of the names of the members of the club that founded the library. First Lady Laura Bush awarded the National Medal for Museum and Library Services to the Skidompha Library in 2008.

Lorraine Brugh is currently resident director of Valparaiso University’s Study Centre in Cambridge, England. She is professor of music and the Frederick J. Kruse Organ Fellow at Valparaiso University, Valparaiso, Indiana.

We settled into our seats after waiting in a long line to get into the Quire at York Minster. Extra chairs lined the floor in front of the choir stalls, and an usher directed us to sit there. Candles were already lit in the stalls where the choir would be positioned, and Evensong was ready to begin. Absorbing the beauty of the edifice, I focused my sight across the Quire to others who had gathered for the service. In the back row sat a very elderly man, surrounded by seats with placards reading “Reserved for Family.”

I knew that two days before, October 2, was the centenary of York Minster’s organist emeritus, Francis Jackson. Michael Barone’s Pipedreams show for October 2 featured Jackson’s music and included a recent interview with Jackson. Jackson is alive and well, living in a village not far from York. It was a treat to worship at the Minster so close to his birthday. Looking at the service folder I was pleased to see that the Choral Evensong would be sung in celebration of the 100th birthday of Dr. Francis Jackson, CBE, and would be attended by members of the Royal College of Organists. Jackson had been the organization’s president from 1972 until 1974.

Never had I imagined that I would be looking Francis Jackson in the eye, but there he was before me. A tiny man, only his head and shoulders were visible above the choir stalls. The choir sang the opening prayers in the aisle just outside the Quire, then we all stood as the choir processed in and took their places. They sang “O Lord, open thou our lips; And our mouth shall shew forth thy praise. O God, make speed to save us; O Lord, make haste to help us.” It was a setting by Francis Jackson, simple, responsorial.  

Dr. Jackson closed his eyes during much of the service, clearly drinking in the music. The choir sang a Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis by Edward Bairstow, Jackson’s predecessor at the Minster as well as his first organ teacher. Robert Sharpe, the Minster’s current director of music, led the choir with precision and grace. The Minster choir program prides itself in having both a girls choir and a boys choir for trebles. Their website notes that York Minster was one of first cathedrals in the UK to introduce girl choristers alongside the boys. The girls and boys share the singing of the eight sung services each week equally, joining forces for major events such as the great Christmas and Easter festivities. On this occasion, the girl choristers and adults were singing. Their sound was ethereal and ably supported by the men.

Dr. Jackson was drinking in more than the music, however. Next we all spoke the Apostles’ Creed and Dr. Jackson made a sign of the cross on his chest as we came to its final lines, “the communion of saints; the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body; and the life everlasting.” He was still finding expression for his faith in the same place where he was first a chorister 89 years earlier.  

In Anglican Evensong the choral anthem is placed just before the final prayers at the end of the service. Expecting a joyful anthem written by Francis Jackson on this festive day, I was surprised by the choice, Remember for Good, with text compiled by Eric Milner-White and music by Francis Jackson. Jackson and Milner-White served the Minster together for 17 years, from Jackson’s arrival in 1946 until Milner-White’s death in 1963. The words are engraved in a prominent display at the Minster and commemorate those who served in the Royal Air Force in World War II:

Remember for good, O Father, those whose names we commemorate before thee: to whom we render honour and give thanks in thy holy house. They went through the air and space without fear, and the shining stars marked their shining deeds. They counted not their lives dear unto themselves but laid them down for their friends.

O Christ, O Lord of Lords, prince of the armies of heaven, write their names in thy book of immortality. And give to them that on earth were faithful unto death, thy crown of life in the paradise of God.

The music was dark, reflective, yet filled with hope and beauty. It was a deeply moving moment in the room and a fitting tribute that reached beyond the composer’s composition. Jackson again drank it in with eyes closed.

We stood as the choir recessed, then sang the Aisle Prayers outside the Quire. We were seated to enjoy Jackson’s Diversion for Mixtures, finally the joyous ending I believe we were all expecting.

The festivity continued with a reception in his honor. Many from the Royal College of Organists were present, as well as the dean of the cathedral, the Very Reverend Dr. Vivienne Faull. She regaled the crowd with stories of Dr. Jackson’s active life as a gardener and a parish organist! He still serves a small parish near his home in East Acklam, which is also served by a retired bishop. She noted that the parish is well cared for!

Dr. Faull then invited Dr. Jackson to the podium. Without any assistance, either mechanical or human, he approached the platform. A slight gasp came from the group as he had trouble making the small stair, and the dean assisted him up. He then spoke, softly and humbly, about the wonderful life he has had, most of it circling around the Minster. He hadn’t done anything special to be able to live this long, he said; it just happened. He told us that where we were now standing, in the north transept, was his favorite place to hear the organ.

Many of the choristers had stayed through this part of the reception. In front of me were three girls who had sung that night. (Their job was to pass out potato chips at the reception.) At least one couldn’t have been older than six. I wondered what they were thinking as we older ones marveled at this man and these words of humility and grace. Perhaps one of them will be the next organist at the Minster. That would certainly be a fitting legacy for Francis Jackson, his life and work.

Francis Jackson was born October 2, 1917, in Malton, North Yorkshire, England. At age eleven, he became a chorister at York Minister, with Edward Bairstow as organist-choirmaster. He continued studies with Bairstow after he left the choir. He earned the Fellowship of the Royal College of Organists in 1937, having been honored with the Limpus prize. He graduated from Durham University with a Bachelor of Music degree.

In October 1940, Jackson joined the Army and was sent into action in North Africa, Egypt, and Italy. After World War II, he became assistant organist of York Minster, as Bairstow had become ill. Jackson functioned as acting organist in this period. In October 1946, after Bairstow’s death, Jackson was appointed organist and master of the music for the Minster. He earned his Doctor of Music degree from Durham University in 1957.

In addition to his duties at the Minster, Jackson maintained an international recital career beyond his 95th birthday. He has made numerous recordings of solo organ works as well as choral music with the Minster choir. As a composer, he has over 150 published works to his credit, both sacred and secular repertoire, work that has continued beyond his retirement.

Having served as president of the Royal College of Organists (1972–1974) and having been made an Officer of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (1978), Jackson retired from York Minster in 1982. In 2007, he was made a Commander of the Order of the British Empire. Numerous other awards and honors have been bestowed on Jackson, as well. In 2013, he published his autobiography, Music for a Long While. 

Cuthbert and the Cow

Cuthbert (634–687 AD) was a monk and later a bishop in the Northumbrian Church, in the northeast of England, the area of modern Newcastle, near the Scottish border. After his death, his remains had remarkable adventures, which seemed to contribute as much to his eventual sainthood as did his activities while breathing. Eleven years after his death, his tomb was opened in preparation for his reburial, and to the amazement of those present, his corpse was miraculously preserved, inspiring the swift development of a cult honoring his memory and making him the most popular saint in England at the time.

Several centuries after his death, his admirers dug up his remains again to take him on the lam, protecting him from a Danish invasion. Suddenly and mysteriously, the cart carrying the coffin became stuck in the road. According to the legend, it wasn’t mud, and it wasn’t a mechanical breakdown, it was just stuck. Bishop Aldun, the leader of Cuthbert’s groupies, had a vision that St. Cuthbert was asking to be taken to Dunholme. Trouble was, no one knew where that was. As they pondered, a milkmaid wandered by looking for her lost cow. When she asked if anyone had seen her cow, a young woman pointed up the road, saying she had seen the cow heading toward Dunholme (now Durham). Miraculously, the cart was freed, and the roadies continued to Durham. Cuthbert was buried there and a great church was built to honor his memory. The present cathedral was built on the same site a century later, and Cuthbert was unearthed again and moved to a shrine attached to the new building. Apparently that was the end of Cuthbert’s travels, more than 400 years after his death, though after all that, I wouldn’t stand too close to his grave, beautifully preserved or not.

The episode with the cart might have been the first time on record that the men stood around wondering where they were, while a woman asked for directions. By the way, she found her cow, whose role in the legend is commemorated by a Victorian bovine statue, in a niche high on the exterior of the cathedral.

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Durham Cathedral is an incredible place. William the Conqueror appointed William of St. Carilef as the first bishop there in 1081. Construction of the new cathedral started in 1093, and the nave was completed around 1130 (AD, not AM). It’s officially called the Cathedral Church of Christ, Blessed Mary the Virgin, and St. Cuthbert of Durham. “Durham Cathedral” works for me. While the great buildings of the High Gothic defy gravity, relying on exterior buttresses to support the weight of huge high ceilings while walls are nearly all glass and apparently structure-free, the Norman architecture of Durham Cathedral is gravity-intensive. The ancient fabric of the building is solid, and it seems as though the engineers and architects were experimenting as they went. Some arches are round while others are pointed, and clerestory windows don’t line up above those in lower stories. Buttresses between the windows are integral with the building, amounting to “thickening” of the walls rather than flying free.

Wendy and I spent one night in Durham during our recent trip to England. After dinner, we walked up to the cathedral where bellringers’ practice was going on, and the building was bathed in light. I had the sense that we were witnessing the early development of monumental ecclesiastical architecture, a prelude for our visit the next day to the High Gothic masterpiece of York Minster. The 150 or so years between the buildings at Durham and York, just seventy miles apart, brought incredible advances in construction techniques. Those builders were true innovators, and I wonder how much communication there was between builders in England and those in France at the same time. There was no Chunnel facilitating travel between the two countries, but there must have been plenty of interchange. Maybe there were international job fairs for medieval stonecutters. Come visit us at booth #1081.

Durham is home to 65,000 people and is about 270 miles from London. It’s a long way to go for a one-night visit, but besides visiting the cathedral, I was being offered a cobblers’ dream holiday. Church musicians make pilgrimages to the Chapel of King’s College in Cambridge to hear the world-famous choir and organ. I got to see that iconic Harrison & Harrison organ in the workshop during its reconstruction.

Not that Harrison,

The American organ world celebrates a British immigrant organbuilder who started his working life as a patent attorney before “catching the bug.” G. Donald Harrison was largely responsible for the development of the American Classic pipe organ­—that unique style of instrument found in places like the Church of the Advent in Boston, known for sprightly Principal choruses and Baroque-inspired secondary choruses on Positiv divisions with low wind pressure. They represent a style unto themselves and helped inspire the mid-twentieth century revival of classic styles of organbuilding. Harrison was also responsible for the great organs of the Mormon Tabernacle in Salt Lake City and the Riverside Church in New York City.

I mention Mr. Harrison somewhat out of context here because we’ve just passed the 60th anniversary of his death. In June of 1956, he was working feverishly to complete the rebuilding of the Aeolian-Skinner organ at St. Thomas Church in New York City in time for the convention of the American Guild of Organists, while New York was suffering the unfortunate combination of a heat wave and strike of taxi drivers. After work on June 14, Harrison walked the eight blocks from St. Thomas to his Third Avenue apartment, stopping on the way to pick up a dose of smelling salts. After dinner, while watching Victor Borge on television with his wife, Helen, Harrison suffered a fatal heart attack.

Four days after Harrison’s death, the British organist John Scott was born in Wakefield, Yorkshire, foreshadowing Scott’s brilliant career as organist and director of music at St. Thomas Church, so sadly cut short last August by his sudden death.

That Harrison (& Harrison).

In 1861, Thomas Harrison established a pipe organ building company in Rochdale, near Manchester in the U. K., and in 1876, he moved the company to Durham. He built a number of wonderful organs, and the company really took off when his sons Arthur and Harry took over in 1896. They were exceptionally gifted organbuilders, Harry at the design table and Arthur in the voicing room. The catalogue of Harrison & Harrison organs shows dozens of instruments built in the first decades of the twentieth century. Arthur and Harry must have been especially pleased to have the hometown opportunity to rebuild the 1876 Willis organ in Durham Cathedral in 1905. Arthur Harrison died in 1936, and Harry retired in 1946, and the cows came home when control of the firm was passed on to Harry’s son, Cuthbert in 1945. Cuthbert was director of the firm until 1975 and remained Chairman of the Board until his death in 1991.

Mark Venning ran the company from 1975 until 2011, when Christopher Batchelor was appointed managing director. Dr. Batchelor was my tour guide in the busy workshop, where, among other projects, the King’s College organ was being prepared for shipment back to Cambridge.  

A member of the Harrison & Harrison staff met us at the train station, dropped Wendy off at The Victoria Inn (a crazy little B&B above a six-stool pub), and took me to the workshop, a snazzy place built in 1996 to replace a 124-year-old building that had outlived its usefulness. There’s a small entry vestibule (narthex?) inside the front door that contained two items of interest. One was a four-stop dual-pitched continuo organ (which is for sale), and the other was a letter signed by Queen Elizabeth, framed with a special commemorative medal honoring the work done by Harrison & Harrison as part of the restoration of Windsor Castle following the devastating fire there in 1992.

An organ fit for a king

Reading that letter, I remembered thoughts I had while watching the wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton on television in 2011. That was some job for the organ tuners. The Harrison & Harrison organ at Westminster Abbey was installed in 1937 and was played for the first time for the Coronation of King George VI, the father of Queen Elizabeth. We were recently reminded of King George VI, as he was the central character in the 2010 movie, The King’s Speech. Remember, he’s the one who became king when his brother King Edward VIII abdicated the throne to marry Wallis Simpson. 

All of us in the business of organ building have been involved in projects that must be finished by Christmas, by Easter, or in time for the wedding of the donor’s daughter. But who else besides the people of Harrison & Harrison have been faced with such momentous events, so many times? An internationally televised royal wedding or coronation is a terrible time for a cipher!

And speaking of kings, the marvelous Harrison & Harrison organ at King’s College was built in 1934. There are famous photographs that show the organ case perched atop the central screen. Graceful towers on either side of the case seem like upraised arms, while the center of the main case ducks out of the way of the view. It looks monumental, but in fact, the case is not large enough to house the massive organ, so much of the instrument is concealed within the screen, below the level of the organ’s console.  

Installing a large organ in an ancient building is charged with difficulties. Even though the chapel building is huge (those at King’s College, Duke University, and Valparaiso University are supposedly the world’s largest collegiate chapels), the original designers made no provision for placement of an organ. And if they had, they would never have conceived of our modern instruments with 32-foot pipes, heavy expression boxes, and all the other pneumatic goodies that take up so much space.

The organ at King’s College is used very heavily, and after 80 years, mechanical systems became increasingly difficult to maintain, so much of the mechanical structure of the instrument is new, including windchests, reservoirs, structure, expression boxes, and other appliances. Maintenance passage boards are mounted on hinges to swing up, providing freer egress of sound, especially allowing the organists to better hear the organ from the console. All of the new structure was standing in the shop during my visit. A large part of the project was complete before the organ was removed early in 2016.

The original pipes are being cleaned and repaired, ready for installation during the summer, with the project scheduled for completion in September. We (along with millions of others) can all look forward to hearing the renovated instrument in the broadcast of the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols on Christmas Eve.

I found it strangely moving to see pipes in crates from particular stops I remember hearing on recordings and radio broadcasts, like the English Horn in Berlioz’s Shepherds’ Farewell. And who among us hasn’t wept to the strains of that Tuba pointing out the melody under descants in Hark, the Herald Angels Sing, or O Come, All Ye Faithful? (Special thanks to the late David Willcocks.) I also saw the famous gold-leafed façade pipes, many of which date from the original organ built in 1605, some of which had suffered terrible gravity-induced damage. A pair of cheerful metal workers showed me how they were cutting off time- and weight-ravaged toes, reinforcing the pipe feet, and soldering on new cast toes—a sort of galvanized pedicure.

A fund-lowering pitch

As Peterborough Cathedral celebrates its 900th anniversary, they’ve embarked on an ambitious campaign, raising funds for a large number of extraordinary projects. You can see the scope of Peterborough 900 on the cathedral’s website at www.peterborough-cathedral.org.uk/home/campaign-objectives.aspx. Two of the projects are directly related to music. One is a £1,000,000 Cathedral and Community Music School (when we were in the U. K. last month, £1 cost almost $1.50), and the other is lowering the pitch of the 1884 Hill Organ. The organ was originally built at “Old Philharmonic Pitch,” commonly used in the late nineteenth century. While modern concert pitch is A = 440 cycles per second, Old Philharmonic Pitch is A = 453 Hz, enough higher that singers are surprised by it, and many modern orchestral instruments can’t match it.  

Changing the pitch of a large pipe organ is a complicated process. Each pipe has to be made longer (the Peterborough organ has 5,286 pipes). It’s also a tricky decision because lengthening an organ pipe changes its scale, which is the ratio of length by diameter. During my tour, I saw many pipes from the Peterborough organ, both wood and metal, with their extensions and new tuning scrolls in various stages of completion. I was impressed that big projects on two huge and famous organs were underway in the workshop at the same time. There sure were a lot of organ parts stacked about. And that wasn’t all. A new two-manual tracker-action instrument was underway as well.

When one is not enough

The morning after my tour of the Harrison & Harrison workshops, H&H operations manager Jeremy Maritz met Wendy and me “by the font” at the west end of Durham Cathedral to show us the organ. The three of us crowded into the tiny console gallery above the quire and explored the kaleidoscope of tone color revealed by the luxurious ivory drawknobs. Isn’t it rich when a Great division has both First and Second 8′ Diapasons? But wait—this organ has four! It’s the Swell division that has “only” First and Second Diapasons. And here’s a new one—in the Pedal division, Open Wood 16′ I and Open Wood 16′ II. Those two huge stops are located on opposite sides of quire, in the surrounding ambulatory—and it’s Open Wood 16′ II that’s extended to 32-foot. Heavens! And as if that’s not enough, there’s also a 16′ Diapason made of metal. Reeds, you ask? 32′ Double Ophicleide (an extension of the Solo Tuba) and 32′ Double Trombone. It’s embarrassing.

I’m grateful to Jeremy Maritz, Christopher Batchelor, and the staff of Harrison & Harrison for their hospitality and for the great education I received at their hands.

Betting on the future of the past

Here in the United States, lotteries operated by governments are a mixed bag. In Colorado, proceeds from the state lottery are largely invested in parks and recreational facilities, while in Kansas significant lottery money goes to the construction and maintenance of prisons. In Great Britain, the Heritage Lottery Fund provides funding for countless projects related to the preservation of the country’s heritage, from steam-powered tugboats to church bells, from medieval cathedrals to pipe organs. Actually, the projects are not countless—the lottery’s website claims that £6.8 billion have been awarded to support 39,000 projects since 1994.

Durham Cathedral has an ongoing project called Open Treasure that involves restoration and preservation of the building itself as well as new programs and uses for the enclosed spaces. Exhibition spaces are being developed for the display of incredible treasures owned by the cathedral, and the lottery has provided £3,850,000. Peterborough 900 has received grants totaling £2.5 million from the lottery.

Go to the website www.hlf.org.uk, type “pipe organs” into the search field, and you’ll find a list of projects that have been supported by grants from the Heritage Lottery Fund—from £44,000 for the restoration of the 1881 organ built by K. C. Reiter in the parish church of All Saints’, Roos, to £950,000 toward the restoration of the Harrison & Harrison organ at Royal Festival Hall.

During our trip, we saw signs proclaiming the support of the HLF at York Minster, Blenheim Palace, and the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford. We saw it at Westminster Abbey and at St. Martin in the Fields at Trafalgar Square.

The Heritage Lottery Fund is one of twelve specialty funds that disperse the proceeds of the National Lottery (www.national-lottery.co.uk). Other funds support arts councils, sports organizations, and the British Film Institute. As a short-term observer from the outside, it seemed pretty enlightened to me. Can you imagine our federal legislature coming up with something like that? I’d buy a ticket.